Your Worst Inhibitions
by msdevindanielle
Summary: When a mysterious presence known as the Clairvoyant steals a powerful drug, Skye enlists the help of a local psychic in order to catch him. But as the team gets closer to discovering the truth, FitzSimmons could end up getting caught in the crossfire. A Psych AU written as part of the FitzSimmons Whole New World exchange.
1. In Between the Lines

**A/N** : I wrote this for Tumblr user lucyrinner as part of the FitzSimmons Whole New World exchange. (P.S. Happy birthday!) This story functions more as a crossover than an AU, partly because I've never written a true AU before and partly because I wanted to keep Psych's characters as well as those in Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. On the Psych end, the story is set sometime in early season 5 (specifically between Feet, Don't Kill Me Now and Not Even Close, Encounters), but it isn't necessary to have seen those episodes recently to understand the plot. Despite the fact that I apparently don't know how to AU, I really hope you enjoy the story. I've had such a blast writing it. :)

* * *

1987

Shawn deftly weaved through the crowded pathway, taking care not to draw too much attention to himself as he approached his target. It wasn't all that difficult, considering he had the advantage of the flashing Tilt-a-Whirl on his right, and loud cheers for a guy winning a stuffed bear for his girlfriend on his left. Add to that the general hustle and bustle of the Santa Barbara County Fair, and Shawn was positive he was going to get away with it.

He still advanced stealthily, though, his footsteps barely making a sound in the trampled grass. He was so close now, just a few more feet. The fluffy blue treat hovered in front of him, and Shawn gleefully noticed that its owner was unaware of the crime that was about to happen. He slowly reached a hand out, his mouth already watering, and attempted to grab a small fistful –

Only to be stopped by a sharp rap on his wrist.

"I know you're not trying to steal my cotton candy, Shawn," Gus said as he jerked the candy away from him. The kid must have had some kind of sixth sense for whenever anyone tried to touch his food, because this was Shawn's twentieth unsuccessful attempt to do so.

"Come on, Gus," Shawn whined, his stomach growling right on cue. "I haven't had any all day."

Gus was apparently untroubled by the fact that Shawn was starving to death. "It's not my fault you wasted all your money trying to knock over those bottles."

"That's not fair," Shawn argued as he shot an angry look at the pimply teenager responsible for his current woes. He received a sneer in response. "That game was rigged and you know it," he mumbled. "I'm an awesome shot."

Of course, Dad could never let a few minutes go without putting in his two cents. "Gus is right, Shawn," he said in his annoyingly self-satisfied tone. "You should've been paying attention to how much money you were spending. And sometimes you've gotta know your limits. No matter how cool you might think the prize is."

Shawn didn't even have to look at him to know he was putting air quotes around the word "cool." And he totally wasn't going to give up so easily. "That squid hat was _awesome_ , Dad. Do you have any idea what I could've done with that?"

"You mean besides make yourself look like an idiot?" After a moment (and a scowl from Shawn), Dad seemed to regret his choice of words. Or maybe he regretted the fact that he'd said it so loudly a few moms had turned their heads. "But you're right," he muttered quietly. "That game was rigged."

Shawn was about to suggest going back to the bottle game and arresting the horrible attendant for ten counts of trickery, when he heard a soft, clear voice coming from somewhere over his right shoulder.

"Hello, Shawn Spencer."

Shawn whipped his head around, his eyes falling on a young woman sitting at a purple booth. She was alone, a crystal ball and some strange cards decorating the table in front of her. The whole setup looked like any old psychic booth. The woman was different from most psychics he'd seen at the fair, though. She didn't have anything on her head to cover her dark curls, and she wore a simple flower dress instead of the flashy costumes they normally wore. A sign hanging from the table read "Madame Raina" in cursive letters. Shawn was fairly certain that he'd never seen her before in his life. Yet Madame Raina was looking at him as if she not only knew him, but could also see into his soul.

He struggled to move past his surprise. "H-how…how did you know my name?" he asked as he took a few careful steps towards her.

"I know a lot about you, Shawn," she smiled. "But you're probably not interested in what you already know about yourself. Would you like to know about your future?"

Shawn began to nod his head when he heard his dad clear his throat behind him. His excited grin fell. "I'm sorry," he said dejectedly. "I don't have any money."

Madame Raina glanced over his shoulder for a moment, her smile still perfectly in place. "For the young man with stars in his eyes and a world of possibilities ahead of him?" She gave him another one of those mysterious soul-searching looks. "No charge."

Shawn ignored the low mutters and scoffs from his father and sat down in front of the booth. The questions tumbled out of him at lightning speed. "Am I gonna be a billionaire? It's when I find Bouchard's hidden treasure, isn't it? Is Gus actually going to be a lawyer, or is that just a phase he's going through? If Marty McFly goes to the future and sees his kids, won't that mess with the space-time continuum? Shouldn't he know better by now?" Shawn could almost see his dad's irritation, which made him think of the most important question of all. " _How long will I have good hair?_ "

Madame Raina laughed. "My, you are a curious one, aren't you, Shawn Spencer?" she asked. "Here, may I have a look at your palms?"

Feeling a little sheepish, Shawn held his hands out for her to take. Madame Raina inspected his palms for a few moments, running her fingertips lightly over the lines in his skin. "Oh, yes," she nodded, although Shawn had no idea what she could possibly be seeing or talking about. "Yes, just what I expected."

Shawn leaned forward excitedly. "What? What do you see?"

"I see a very bright future for you, Shawn Spencer," she smiled, releasing his hands. "You're going to be responsible for saving many, many lives."

"Really?" Shawn asked in awe.

"Yeah, yeah, he's going to follow in his father's footsteps and become a cop," Dad said in annoyance as he put his hand on Shawn's shoulder. "Shawn, she sees that you're with me, I'm in my uniform, it's called educated guessing. Come on, let's go. I think we've heard enough."

"But Dad-"

"Oh, I wouldn't be so sure about that, Dad," Madame Raina interrupted. She still had that soft smile on her face, but for the first time, Shawn noticed a dark glint in her eyes. "Shawn will save many lives, yes, but I don't think it'll be in a way that you expect. In fact, Shawn, I think we'll all be very interested in finding out…what you become."

Shawn had to fight to keep very still. "What will I become?"

But Madame Raina just smirked at Dad. "Oh, I wouldn't want to spoil the surprise."

"All right, that's enough," Dad said forcefully, pulling Shawn out of his chair. "Thank you."

"Wait, what about me?" Gus asked as he stepped up to the table. "What can you tell me about _my_ future?"

Madame Raina folded her hands in front of her. "That'll be five dollars."

"Five dollars?!" Gus repeated in indignation. "But you didn't make _him_ pay!"

"A girl's gotta make a living," she smiled sweetly.

"Man, whatever," Gus scoffed, following after Shawn. "Let's get out of here."

"Goodbye, Shawn Spencer," Madame Raina called out. "Good luck at your game tomorrow."

Shawn glanced over his shoulder, trying and failing to fight against the firm hand on his back that was guiding him forward. "How did she know I had a game tomorrow?"

"Shawn, are you serious?" Dad asked with a roll of his eyes. "Think about it for a minute. You're wearing your team jersey, so she probably figured you play baseball. It's a Friday, and most Little League games in the summer are on Saturday mornings. Plus, you've got red marks all down your left leg from sliding onto the bases. It's not rocket science, son."

Shawn knew he made sense, but he wasn't willing to let it go. "Okay, fine. How'd she know my name then?"

For once, Dad looked like he was sort of stumped. But the moment was gone in a flash. "Shawn, did you ever notice how easy it is to eavesdrop in a crowd? She sits in her little booth, listening to people come and go, and she latches on to tiny bits of conversation so she can spin her story. She probably heard me say your name, saw my nametag on the uniform, and surmised that you were my son. Come on, didn't I teach you anything about putting two and two together? Trust me, Shawn. There's no such thing as psychics. It's all just a bunch of phonies using context clues and a little hocus pocus to make a quick buck. Remember that."

Shawn simply folded his arms in defeat as he realized he'd been fooled. But he couldn't help but look back at the girl in the flower dress with the mysterious smile, wondering how she'd gotten into the psychic business in the first place and who on earth used the word "surmised" in everyday conversation.

* * *

PRESENT DAY

"Trust me, Hannah," Shawn said in between bites of Doritos. "You've got nothing to worry about. The spirits are all very pleased with Tobias. They say he's a real stand-up guy."

Gus walked into the office just then with his briefcase, and Shawn gave him a nod as he continued reassuring their latest client. "No, he's not cheating on you, honey. But you've gotta talk to him, get everything out in the open, okay? Oh, and uh, don't let him fix any faulty appliances for a while. I-I just have a feeling about this one, something about his aura tells me I don't want him near my circuit breaker, you know what I mean?" He chuckled a little, but Hannah's response was absent from any humor. Oh, well. She didn't seem like the kind of person that laughed a lot anyway.

"No, thank _you_ ," Shawn said. "You can make your check out to Psych or _Shawn Spencer_. Whichever is more convenient." Gus gave him a pointed look, but Shawn waved him off. "All right, you take care, Hannah. Mmhmm. Buh-bye."

Gus was on him as soon as he hung up the phone. "I thought we weren't taking any more cheating cases, Shawn," he said as he poured himself a glass of milk.

"Gus, it's money," Shawn argued, using his hands for emphasis. "With my dad blocking us from all the good cases nowadays, we can't afford to turn down the easy freebies. And yes, they are _so_ easy, but you know what? Who cares? I sure don't. Besides, I didn't think you'd care that _one_ of us is actually trying to pay the bills for this place."

Gus paused to swallow his milk. " _I_ pay the bills for this place. You don't even know how to balance your own checkbook."

"Gus, _no one_ knows how to balance their checkbook," Shawn argued. "It's one of those myths of adulthood that everyone claims to do but never actually does, like folding fitted sheets. Or listening to NPR." He crumpled up his empty Doritos bag and tossed it through the basketball hoop into the trashcan. "Or paying taxes."

Gus gave him a concerned look. "Everybody pays taxes, Shawn."

"Agree to disagree."

Before Gus could reply, Shawn moved on. "And it technically wasn't even a cheating case, okay? Her boyfriend just got fired for committing a bunch of safety violations and hasn't owned up to it. He's been spending all his time job hunting."

"You say tomato, I say-"

Just at that moment, there was a light knock on the open office door. "Hey, um…are you Shawn Spencer?"

Shawn spun around, his eyes habitually taking in every tiny detail of the girl that had just walked in the door, from the small frays on the ends of her plaid shirt to the old laptop case slung across her shoulders to the slight curl in her fingertips, probably from typing a lot. With her ethnically ambiguous facial features, she somehow managed to combine exotic with the Girl Next Door. It was fairly impressive, actually.

"That's what it says on my birth certificate," he replied, stepping forward to shake her hand. "Although I can neither confirm nor deny my whereabouts when that particular document was created. You see," he continued in a mock serious tone. "I was too young to remember."

"Funny," she smiled, laughing a little. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Spencer. I'm Skye."

"Oh, please," Shawn held up his hands and shook his head. "Mr. Spencer is my father. My very bald, anal-retentive, Deadliest Catch-obsessed father." He turned to slap Gus on the shoulder, who was apparently trying to communicate something to him with his eyes. Shawn ignored him, getting back to Skye. "It's Shawn to my familiars, and there is something…very familiar about you."

Shawn could practically feel Gus rolling his eyes next to him. Skye made a noise that was some kind of snort and chuckle mixed together, sounding weirdly adorable in the process.

"Really?" she asked. Shawn thought she seemed a bit skeptical, but she also looked willing to go along with the bit. And after all, she'd come to see _him_ , hadn't she?

"Yes," he insisted, bringing his finger up to his temple. "You know, I too spend a lot of time on the computer. But not nearly as much as you, I'm sensing."

Skye stared at him blankly for a second. "Wow," she said, sounding impressed. Shawn smiled along with her, making a show with his hands like it'd been nothing. "I'm sure my laptop case wasn't a dead giveaway there. Like, at _all_."

Gus's snickers were extremely audible.

"I'm _also_ sensing," Shawn continued in a loud voice, determined to use his skills properly this time, "that you've spent a lot of time moving around." He noticed that her shirt, while frayed, was also lightened from many years of washing, and that a couple of the buttons were slightly different, like they'd been clumsily sewn on somewhere down the line.

"Yes, you've gone from one place to the next, searching for something, something different, but…but none of those places ever felt like home. No. No, you've never really had a home, have you, Skye?" His tone grew softer as her faltered smile confirmed his guess. "I'm sorry, it's just…I can't imagine what it must have been like to never know your parents. You'll have to forgive me for that callous birth certificate joke I made earlier. Skye is a lovely name. I'm curious, did you pick that one out yourself?"

"I'd like to apologize for my partner's behavior," Gus interrupted, quickly trying to step in front of Shawn. "Sometimes he has off days."

Skye shook her head. "No, he's…he's right," she said softly.

Shawn was surprised. He'd fully been expecting a slap in the face. At _least_.

"Really?" he and Gus asked at the same time.

"Yeah," Skye nodded, moving to set her bag down on one of their cushioned chairs. "I'm sorry I didn't believe you earlier. It's just…" She sighed as she ran one hand through her long curls. "Well, I wanted to make sure you were legit, because honestly, you're kind of my last resort. No offense."

"None taken," Shawn assured her.

"And I know you've solved a bucket load of cases for the SBPD," she went on, proceeding to take out her laptop and set it up on Shawn's desk like it was hers or something. "You've got a pretty big fan base online, too. Everyone says you're the best."

Shawn swatted Gus's arm in excitement. "Hey, how come you didn't tell me I had fans online?" he hissed.

"She probably means the Rising Tide," Gus dismissed, rubbing his arm where Shawn had hit him. "It's this website where people go to discuss paranormal activity throughout the world. Ghost sightings, haunted houses, that kind of thing. You're very popular in the psychic forums."

"How do you know all this?" Shawn asked before he figured it out. "You have an account, don't you?"

"Do not."

"Do too."

Skye looked up from her computer. "I helped create the Rising Tide."

Gus immediately turned his head away from Shawn. "My username is supersniffer42."

"Of course it is," Shawn whispered, but Gus wasn't paying attention to him.

" _Anyway_ ," Skye continued. "I'm not here because of the website. I'm here because I could really use your help."

Shawn pulled a chair up so he could see what she was looking at. The screen was filled with a strange sequence of numbers and what looked like a map. "What can we do for you?"

"About a year ago, I started working in the IT department for Shield," she explained. "Ever heard of it?"

"Yeah," Gus replied before Shawn could say something sarcastic. "It's a biotech company that specializes in experimental research, right?"

"Right." Skye looked over her shoulder and gave Gus an impressed smile.

Gus shrugged, but Shawn knew he was probably pretty damn pleased with himself. "I work for Central Coast Pharmaceuticals. We've been trying to sell to Shield for years."

"We've got our own people to develop drugs and all that stuff," Skye said, returning to her computer. "And they are _very_ good at what they do."

But Shawn wanted to get to the good part. "All right, fine. What do you need _us_ to do?"

"Well, a while ago, I started noticing some shady stuff going on. Nothing too bad, just like a random file transfer here, a glitch in the system there. It wasn't anything I could pinpoint, though. But _then_ , a month ago, the director of Shield was kidnapped and tortured by a group of people looking for information."

Shawn's eyes widened. He'd been expecting something like embezzlement or fraud, but this was _so_ much better.

"Oh, my God," Gus breathed. "What kind of information?"

"We're not sure. Our security team found him after less than two days, and he says he doesn't really know what they were hoping to find. Some kind of drug or something? But that's not the weird part. Apparently the people torturing him were only working _for_ someone else, someone that stayed behind the scenes during the whole thing."

Shawn was sifting through the information in his head, so Gus continued to ask the standard questions. "Do you have any idea who it could've been?"

Skye shook her head. "Nope. But…look, these people _knew_ things about my boss. Things they couldn't possibly have known. He seemed really shaken up about it. And if you knew Coulson, you'd know that the guy doesn't shake easily."

"Well, he _was_ kidnapped," Shawn reasoned. "And tortured."

Skye didn't buy the simple explanation. "It's something else, I can tell. He won't talk to anybody about it." The map on the screen began to zoom in towards a specific location, somewhere in southern Canada. "But we need to find out who's behind all this, because we just had a security breach at our facility in Vancouver and our guys up there aren't responding. Plus our cameras are down so we have no idea if anything's been stolen."

Shawn knew what Gus was going to say, but he still shot him a death glare when he said it.

"Sounds like you should go to the police."

Skye gave them an apologetic wince. "The thing is, Shield likes to deal with things…internally."

Shawn asked the next question, skipping the part where Gus clarified that they were, in fact, an external source. "Then why come to us?"

Skye glanced down at her hands. "It's just…I know this is gonna sound weird, but this company, these people…they're the closest thing I have to family." She looked back up at them, swiveling around in the chair. "And I just can't shake this feeling that something _really_ bad is about to happen. So I want to find out who's doing this before anybody else gets hurt."

Shawn considered her face for a moment. She seemed sincere enough. "If you'll excuse us for a moment, I will confer with my colleague."

He and Gus walked precisely two steps away and turned their backs on Skye.

"She needs to go to the police," Gus said in a low voice.

"Dude, you're always harping about money and never having any cool cases. This is a cool case!"

"Cool cases don't involve kidnapping and torture, Shawn."

"Sure, they do! Besides, if nothing else, you'll get to see the inner workings of Shield, maybe give your sales pitch to somebody high up on the ladder. Come _on_ , Gus. I'm tired of waiting for my father to call us for a case."

Gus didn't reply for a few seconds, but Shawn already knew that he'd won.

"Fine," he caved. "But if anything goes wrong-"

"We're out of there."

Skye spoke up. "You know I can hear you, right? I'm literally right behind you. You're not even whispering."

Ignoring her last comment, Shawn clapped his hands together as he turned around. "Okay, what do we know about this mysterious kidnapper?"

"Not much," Skye answered, folding her arms. "He's got a lot of cronies, many of which are creepy as hell. But apparently no one has ever seen him. They only know him by his alias, which…is actually where I got the idea to ask you for help."

"Oh, really?" Shawn asked. "What is it?"

She flashed him a smile, but Shawn could tell she felt almost embarrassed to say it.

"They call him the Clairvoyant."


	2. There's a Lot of Obscurity

Fitz set the finished prototype gingerly on the lab bench to await approval. They still had a few minutes before Ward would show up, though, so he decided to take the time to make small talk. Not that he was particularly well versed in small talk or anything. And it wasn't like they weren't able to work in silence together either. The lab had just been awfully quiet today.

"How's it going over here?" he asked pensively. The tension in her shoulders was noticeably visible, and Fitz knew that if he didn't tread carefully he'd get snapped at.

"It's fine," she replied in a tight voice. She glanced up at him then, taking in his raised eyebrows and altogether skeptical expression. He didn't buy her lie for a second, and she knew it.

"I just...I just wish you'd shown me the specs for these earlier," she sighed. "Or used a higher-caliber round, at least." She held up the molds for him to see, as if he hadn't designed and built them himself. "How on earth are these supposed to administer a dose of dendrotoxin large enough to properly block the neuron's potassium channels –"

Fitz tried his absolute hardest not to grow impatient with her. "Jemma," he said, gently taking the molds from her and setting them back down on the bench. "You need to stop going on about that. Trust me. They'll work."

"All right," Jemma conceded, obviously not convinced. She turned back to her station and began to tidy up her materials. "Just don't come crying to me when Coulson and the others run into trouble at the Guest House."

Fitz was entirely certain that the weapons would suffice, but it didn't keep a feeling of dread out of the pit of his stomach. He attempted to nonchalantly lean against the bench next to her. "Do…do you really think something's gonna happen?"

"I don't know, Fitz," she replied wearily. She was moving things around on the bench in front of her, but Fitz knew her well enough to know that she was just trying to appear busy. In fact, he'd rarely seen her so worried about something. It was extremely disconcerting.

Before the incident, he wouldn't have thought twice about putting his hand on her shoulder or giving her a hug. But things between them had been slightly different since then, in a way that he couldn't quite place. He found himself acting strangely around her, more strangely than usual, and he had absolutely no clue why.

It was probably stress. Yeah. Stress. That'd do it.

"Hey," he murmured, settling for lightly touching her elbow, just enough so she'd look at him. He did his best to give her a small smile. "Everything's gonna be fine."

The corners of her lips turned upwards a little, but her eyes still harbored worry. He could tell she appreciated his clumsy attempts, though. Out of the two of them, she was usually the optimistic one. He was clearly outside of his comfort zone, something that had been happening more and more often as of late.

Jemma gave him a nod, probably the most she could offer him at the moment. Figuring there was nothing more he could really say, Fitz began to head back to his lab bench. He'd only moved a fraction of a foot when he heard her breathe in sharply, like there was something she was struggling to get out. He stopped in his tracks.

"Fitz…" she began, hesitating once he turned to face her. He searched her expression for some kind of clue as to what she was about to say. Normally, he could practically read her mind in situations like these. But right now she was avoiding his eyes and acting altogether worrisome and he had no bloody idea what she was thinking.

The prospect terrified him.

He waited a few seconds before prompting her. "What is it, Jemma?"

"What if…" She paused, slowly meeting his gaze. Fitz held his breath as he waited for her to continue. "What if this was a mistake?"

Fitz was momentarily at a loss for words, trying to figure out exactly what she meant by "mistake." Was she asking if it was a mistake to create the weapons? To fail to acknowledge the genius in their engineering? To work for Shield? To become partners in the first place? There were loads of things she could potentially be referring to. Fitz would need a little bit of clarification in order to respond appropriately.

He opened his mouth to answer, but he was interrupted by the sound of the lab doors sliding open.

"Okay, time's up, guys," Ward announced as he strode into the room. "What've we got?"

Fitz held up one of the pistols, presenting it to Ward. "I've tripled the stopping power and readjusted the bullets so that they break up _underneath_ the subcutaneous tissue," he explained, unable to keep the proud grin off of his face. (He ignored Jemma's eye roll.)

Ward didn't seem particularly impressed, but he took the gun out of Fitz's hands and pointed it at an imaginary target.

"I've also added –"

"It's too heavy," Ward declared after less than a second. "Sorry, Fitz. It's close, but it's an ounce off."

Fitz could hardly believe what he was hearing, although Jemma's skeptical expression mirrored how he felt about the situation. "Really?" he asked quietly, scratching the back of his head. "Are you sure about that? Because, um…Coulson didn't have any problems with it earlier. And normally we have to go through a lot of testing before distribution –"

"Listen, guys." There was a slight twitch in Ward's jaw, an indication that he was probably having a hard time remaining patient. "We can't afford any mistakes today. All right? We have no idea what we're going up against." He pointed his finger at the pistol, and Fitz mentally prepared himself for another one of Ward's pretend scenarios, complete with hand motions. "That ounce could mean the difference between success and failure. When you're on a rooftop with a ten-mile-an-hour wind and a twenty-degree temperature drop, the five hundred yards between you and your target is enough to-"

"Yeah, but couldn't you just use the rifle for that?"

Ward stared at him, clearly not amused. "We're heading to the Guest House in an hour. Lose the ounce."

"Yeah, okay," Fitz replied quickly. "On it."

Jemma began organizing the magazines, even though she and Fitz both knew they weren't going to adjust the weapons' weight. "What _I_ don't understand is why we're even considering bringing along an outsider, one who claims to be a psychic at that. I mean, the notion in and of itself is ridiculous. There's no scientific principle that would support –"

"Psychic abilities," Fitz finished. "No. Not yet anyway."

"Besides, we don't know anything about him. What if he endangers the whole operation?"

Ward sighed, running hand over the bottom half of his face. "Look, I don't know," he replied as he glanced behind him through the glass doors, where Coulson and the others were greeting the supposed psychic in question. "I'm not comfortable bringing him or his partner along either." He turned to face Fitz and Jemma again, his eyes growing stern. "But he's here for Skye's own peace of mind, all right?"

Fitz felt his brow crease together. "Why are you looking at us like that?"

"Because," Ward said, placing his hands on his waist. "I'm _trying_ to tell you to be nice."

There was a brief pause where Fitz and Jemma turned their heads to look at one another. Apparently they'd both heard the same thing.

"I'm sorry, what?"

" _You're_ …telling _us_ …to be nice?"

"Yeah, that's a bit rich, isn't it?"

"Okay, okay." Ward held up his hands for them to stop. "My _point_ is that if we all just play along, he'll be out of our hair soon."

"I'm sorry," Fitz replied, unable to contain his laughter. "I'm still trying to remember which part of the Shield Security Handbook says we're supposed to be nice."

Jemma was grinning too. "Yeah, is that before or after it says we should all hold hands to cross the road?"

They could have gone on like that for quite a bit, in all honesty. But Ward had already walked out of the lab doors.

* * *

Shawn and Gus followed behind Skye as she led them through an alarming number of security doors. For a biotech company, there sure seemed to be a lot of complications and red tape. But Shawn had more pressing matters on his mind.

"Look, all I'm saying is that evolutionarily, it just doesn't make any sense for an elephant to have a trunk."

"Sure, it does," Gus argued, his face indicating that he was extremely confident in his knowledge of the larger mammals. "Elephants are strict vegetarians, so because of their large size they need to ingest a lot more than other animals. Repeatedly bending down and reaching up is too strenuous for them."

"Well, it's strenuous for me too, Gus," Shawn replied. "But you don't see me at the grazing pool spraying water at all the young 'uns with my nose. It's unsanitary. Besides, from an evolutionary standpoint, wouldn't it make _more_ sense to drink from the trunk directly, instead of using it to suck up water, put it in their mouth, and _then_ swallow it? Again. Unsanitary."

"It's not that simple, Shawn. The trunk would need to have its own epiglottis for that."

"Exactly!" Shawn pointed out. "If you're gonna give elephants their own personal Grip 'n Grab attached to their face, why not go the extra mile and give 'em two epiglottises?"

He paused for a moment, causing Gus to nearly run into him. "Epiglotten?" No, that wasn't it. "Epiglotti?" He looked around the room, as if one of the dozens of interchangeably suited men passing them had the answer. "Epi- more than one epiglottis!"

Before Gus had a chance to retort, Skye turned around and motioned for them to stop. "If you guys wanna stay here for a sec, I'll go grab Coulson and he'll brief you on what you'll be doing."

Shawn might have taken the time to make a witty reply, but as soon as she disappeared through a set of sliding doors he made his way over to a large circulation desk. The receptionist was apparently away for the time being, so Shawn immediately went behind the desk and began shuffling through papers.

"Shawn," Gus hissed at him from the other side. "Shawn, what the hell do you think you're doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing, Gus?" Shawn replied, not bothering to look up. "I'm trying to get the lowdown on who exactly these people are. Did you happen to notice that on the way in here we went through four – yes, you heard that right – _four_ security checkpoints? What kind of biotech company needs that much protection?"

"The kind that deals with extremely potent drugs and weaponry." Gus was nervously peering through a couple of the nearest hallways. "Would you hurry up, Shawn? You're gonna get caught."

"We'll be fine," Shawn dismissed, tossing aside the papers. "There's nothing here anyway, just a bunch of memos about something called Project T.A.H.I.T.I. But something fishy's going on here, Gus. I can feel it. I mean, what's with all the men in black, huh?"

For the first time, Gus looked somewhat suspicious, and Shawn knew he wasn't alone in his misgivings.

"It _is_ a little weird," Gus admitted. "It's not like any company I've ever dealt with." He gave Shawn a side-glance. "You got a good look at Skye's eyes, right? She was blinking vertically?"

"Of course I did," Shawn said as he turned over a sheet labeled Project Insight, a sheet that told him essentially squat. "But who knows? That was ninety-seven. They could've evolved by now."

Gus started pacing in front of the desk. "I don't like this, Shawn. We need to solve this quickly and get out of here."

"Would you calm down? There's obviously just –"

"Shawn, someone's coming."

Shawn took a couple seconds to put mostly everything back before joining Gus on the opposite side of the desk. "All right, just act natural," he whispered. Immediately Gus bent down, pretending to tie his penny loafers. For his part, Shawn leaned against the desk, one hand on his hip and the other held out to inspect the time, despite the fact that his wrist remained distinctly watch-less.

"Mr. Spencer," a crisp voice declared. Shawn glanced away from his bare wrist and saw yet another suited man nodding to him and Gus. "Thank you for coming."

"The pleasure is ours," Shawn replied before turning to Gus. "Allow me to introduce my associate, BILLY MILES." Shawn flashed a winning smile as nearly everyone flinched from the shout. "But you can call him Gus."

Shawn quickly gave the man before him a once-over. The guy was aggravatingly nondescript. The most Shawn could pick up on was that he really liked old things (judging by his ancient yet newly polished shoes), and that while he was a very serious person that dealt with very serious things, he probably told a lot of dad jokes (judging by the slight creases around his mouth from smirking all the time and the way he kept Skye in his line of sight).

The woman standing next to him was even more nondescript, even though Shawn wouldn't have thought it possible. All he could tell from her cold stare and strangely form-fitting attire was that she could probably kill him in three hundred different ways and the police would never find his body. So there was _that_.

"I'm Director Coulson," the man said by way of introduction before facing his colleague. "This here is my Deputy Director, Melinda May. You've already met Skye."

Gus stepped forward to shake Coulson's hand, while Shawn tried to think about why someone in Shield would have the title of Deputy Director.

"Thank you for having us, sir," Gus said in his pharmaceutical-salesman voice. "And can I just say what an honor it is to finally get to see what you guys do over here at Shield? If you don't mind, I'd love to sit down with you and discuss some of your latest projects. Do you have an office we could go to?"

Coulson gave them a tight smile. "Look, I'm gonna be honest with you both," he replied. Gus's shoulders slumped a little as he realized he probably wasn't going to get anywhere with his sales pitch. "Shield doesn't make it a habit of hiring individuals outside of the company. It's pretty much unheard of, actually. But Skye really thinks you'll be able to help us, and well…we've been dealing with enough crap here lately that I'm willing to think outside the box if it means we can catch this guy."

"I appreciate your candor, sir," Shawn said in all seriousness. "And trust me, we will do whatever it takes to find out who kidnapped you. But in order for me to do what it is that I do, I'm going to need to absorb the _essence_ of the facility, to live and breathe how your employees would live and breathe, to encourage a steady flow of communication between me and the company's spiritual presence." Shawn realized from the confused stares he was receiving that he'd have to cut the drama short a bit. "I'm gonna full access to your personnel and staff files and a tour of the place," he clarified.

Coulson nodded. "Skye will give you access to whatever you need," he told them. "And Fitzsimmons can show you around the labs. If you have any questions, feel free to ask."

The director looked like he was about to walk away, so Shawn held up his hand. "I just have one, actually," he said loudly before gesturing around the atrium. "What's with all the suits, man?" he laughed. "I mean, if I didn't know any better, I'd say this was some kind of secret government facility masked as a biotech company." He turned to Gus, who'd started laughing too. Shawn wasn't quite sure whether the laughter was born out of humor or terror, but soon they were both in stitches, and Shawn had to fight to get the rest of his words out. "Is that crazy or what? I…I half expected Tommy Lee Jones to come around the corner and tell me I have to sever all of my human contacts."

"Sorry to disappoint."

Shawn and Gus quickly stopped laughing as a ruggedly handsome man - incidentally not Tommy Lee Jones (but strangely close, like a slightly younger, less hardened version) - actually rounded one of the corners and approached their small group.

"Garrett?" Coulson asked in surprise. "What the hell are you doing here?"

The new visitor – Garrett, apparently – gave Coulson a smug grin that somehow still gave off the Old Pal vibe. "Well, as opposed to the jackass that calls himself the Director of Shield, I actually still work for a living."

"You're terrible at showing up for work."

"I have good days."

Coulson seemed to realize that he and Garrett weren't the only two people in the room. "Mr. Spencer, Gus, Skye, this is Agent John Garrett. He's been with Shield for the better part of thirty years, training the best of our security agents."

"Aw, now come on, Phil. You'll make me blush."

"Seriously, Garrett," Coulson said. "Why are you here? I thought you were over at the Sandbox."

"Well, I was, until I heard about the break-in up at the Guest House. Thought I'd lend a hand on your way up." Garrett had such a smooth way of speaking that he seemed pretty carefree, but he grew serious after a moment. "You shouldn't be going out there alone, Phil. Not after what happened to you."

"I won't be alone," Coulson responded, gesturing around him. "We've got the whole team going, as well as Mr. Spencer and his associate."

"Ah, yes," Garrett smiled as he turned his attention to Shawn. "The psychic. Well, it's fitting, I'll give you that, what with this whack job calling himself the Clairvoyant and all. Who knows? Maybe we can actually get a few steps ahead of him." He nudged Coulson. "Plus, the kid's got great hair."

Shawn was actually rendered speechless for a few seconds. Who the hell _was_ this guy, and how did someone so cool end up working security in the private sector? "I consider that…the _highest_ of compliments, sir."

Just then, Shawn heard the sound of automatic doors sliding open behind him. Garrett's gaze moved past Shawn.

"Ah, there's the handsome devil," he grinned. "You joining the party too?"

Shawn spun around and nearly rolled his eyes at the spectacle before him. Yet _another_ ridiculously good-looking security agent, complete with impeccable muscle definition and all, came over and shook Garrett's hand. (Where on earth was Shield churning out these guys?)

"John," Agent Chiseled Cheekbones said. "If I'd have known you were coming, I would've stashed some extra scotch on the Bus."

"I'm sure we'll make do," Garrett replied. "Hell, I'm not above getting creative if we have to." He let the chuckles die down before he folded his arms and turned to Coulson. "So, boss, when are we heading out?"

Coulson deferred to his deputy director. "May?"

"Wheels up in twenty."

Damn. No sign of any emotion on her face for Shawn to read. Whatsoever. It was like he'd stepped into a weird episode of _The X-Files_ , except he didn't know if the people he was dealing with were Mulder and Scully or the Cigarette Smoking Man. (With his luck, probably both.)

"Come on, Grant." Garrett motioned for the brooding younger agent to follow him. "I'll show you some of the new toys we just got from our boys over at the Sandbox."

As the two of them headed off down one of the hallways, Shawn turned over all the new information in his head, sincerely hoping that they'd be able to get some actual investigating done soon. But the more he spoke with these people, the less clear the entire endeavor became.

Shawn's reeling thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a low voice speaking to Coulson. He immediately adjusted his attention to the deputy director, who for the first time in the last ten minutes actually showed something akin to human sensation on her face.

"Coulson, are you sure we shouldn't bring a bigger recon team?" she murmured to him. Her eyes traveled to a set of glass doors, which appeared to lead to some kind of laboratory. Behind the doors, a mini Jennifer Garner was laughing next to what Shawn imagined was the love child of Anthony Michael Hall and Dr. Huxtable's sweater vest. "Everyone's been a little on edge since you got back," May continued. "And I'm sure I don't need to remind you about the incident."

"They'll be fine," Coulson assured her. "They can handle it." May didn't look very convinced, but she exited down the hallway too.

Now with only the four of them in the atrium, Coulson addressed his IT girl. "Skye, I trust you'll see to it that these gentlemen make it to the Bus on time."

"Sure thing, A.C.," she smiled, and Coulson gave her a brief nod before heading down a different corridor.

Shawn vaguely wondered why she'd called him A.C., but he had something else he needed to discuss.

"Quick question before you go, sir," he said in a loud voice, holding up his hand again. "And this is very important."

Coulson turned around, his eyebrows raised.

"Will we be back in time for Dancing with the Stars?" he asked. "I'm pretty sure Gus forgot to TiVo it, and one of his personal heroes is taking the stage this season."

To Shawn's surprise, Coulson actually smirked. "Let me guess. Buzz Aldrin?"

"Pamela Anderson, actually," Shawn clarified with a completely straight face.

Coulson looked back and forth between Shawn and Gus, like he wasn't sure what to make of them. "We'll be back before nightfall," he promised.

As soon as he was out of earshot, Shawn took a step closer to Skye. "Forgive me for saying so, Skye," he said quietly. "But these people don't really seem like your type."

"Yeah," Gus agreed. "What the hell did you drag us into?"

Skye just gave them a smile. "It takes some getting used to, I'll admit. But they're not so bad once you get to know 'em." She gestured towards some kind of tablet she had in her hands. "Now, I'll be able to access most of our files on the Bus, so I'll show you around a bit and let you do your…psychic…thingy."

"It's a process," Shawn told her, slightly amused by the hand gestures she'd attempted using. "But what I'm really interested in seeing right now is where the magic happens." He took another step closer to her and lowered his voice. "Tell me, who's responsible for creating the stuff around here that someone might want to steal?"

Skye had a strangely mischievous look on her face, like she was sitting on a really fun secret.

"I think it's time to introduce you to Fitzsimmons."


End file.
